


This is how you remind me of who I really am

by Complicity



Series: Put your hands where my eyes can see them [1]
Category: Justified
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Army buddies, Between Seasons 2 and 3, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Drunk Tim, Gen, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Season/Series 02, but nothing heavy, i don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-10-13 14:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10515813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Complicity/pseuds/Complicity
Summary: Tim has to reveal a bit more about himself than he's comfortable with and he still can't fathom if Raylan is the best marshal in Kentucky or a rotten apple that needs kicking out. Perhaps he's both, and either way he's starting to ooze under Tim's carefully constructed defences.





	1. Do we need to be concerned about Tim?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leslielol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leslielol/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art is concerned and so is Rachel but the only one who can't plead off with family commitments on a Friday night is Raylan, who can't get his head out of his own complicated life long enough to be concerned, and so he draws the short straw on the sitter duties. Set some time after the Jess Timmons shooting. Raylan starts looking out for Tim despite his better judgement.  
> It's only rated teen up because of the language.

It was about the tenth play through of the song when the old lady upstairs started hammering the floor of her apartment with her stick. Perhaps she had just put her hearing aid in.

“Because you sure as shit have your TV loud enough” Tim shouted as the music blared out again.

He stood in the middle of his living room, shirt pulled out of his jeans, boots kicked anywheres, clutching a bottle of Old Charter because that is a really good look for 4 o'clock on a Friday afternoon. Rachel had bundled him home out of the office early, made up some excuse for Art.

“You might as well go home and do nothing than do nothing here.” She hadn’t said it gently.

The track came to an end. He picked up the remote. Fuck it. Pause. Back one track. Press play. Drink another slug from the bottle. Ignore the hammering on the door because perhaps the old deaf lady had called the cops. Pick up his cell phone because maybe, just maybe, Rachel had taken pity on him and would take him out to bar and the flashing screen was her texting because sure as shit no one else was going to be doing that.

[Let me in dick brain. I'm outside.]

Tim killed the music, then regretted it. Way to let someone know they had your attention. So now here was standing in his own living room feeling out of place and staring at the inside of his front door. Holding his breath and swaying because half a bottle of bourbon was inside him. In his socks. This was not a cool look. If only he had supra sider skills to see through the door. _Shit, even the voice in the head was drunk._

“Super. Spidey. Skills.” Say it out loud. That’s not at all ridiculous. Who had the X-ray vision thing anyway? _Superman! Idiot._ Tim put his arms out wide. Imaginary flying with a cape _\- yeah._

“Gutterson. Open up.” And then to someone else in an altogether wholesome tone “That’s right ma’am they’ve sent a non-uniform to deal with it. We take disturbing the neighbors very seriously.”

There was a rap on the door. Not a tentative tap. A Marshal’s Knock. A marshal who meant business. A marshal who was mos’ defn’ley wearing a hat. Tim decided to go for goofy. Hey, it worked for Dewey Crowe. Raylan hadn’t shot him. Yet.

He swung the door open wide, “Can I help you Deputy?”

And then Raylan is in the living room. All of him. Much taller than Tim remembers. Perhaps because he is now sitting down. Can’t remember how he got there. Great things couches. He gives it a pat to say thank you.

“Jesus. How much have you had to drink? You smell like you actually bathe in bourbon.” Raylan doesn’t wait for an answer. Just snatches the bottle out of Tim’s hand. Tim makes a grab for it and ends up on the floor. Thinks he’ll just stay there for a while.

“Nice boots man.”

The boots took themselves out of his field of vision. Sounds drift in from the kitchen as water is run, cupboards are pulled open and banged shut. 

The boots are back. “When did you last eat anything that didn’t come out of bottle or a cereal box?”

“Snuffin’ wrong wi’ frosted mini wheats.” 

“Up. Now. Tim.” He felt a firm grip on his upper arm and then came the swearing as Tim’s muscles decided that Tim was not going to put any effort into Operation Get Tim off the floor.

“Ow.” Tim tried to co-ordinate rubbing the back of his head where it smacked hard into the coffee table on the way up, and trying to wriggle away before he was dumped back on the sofa. “Supposed to say sorry if you hurt someone,” he said.

“Fuck you. And drink that.” Raylan slammed the glass of water down so hard on the table a good bit of it splashed out.

“Spilt some.” Tim frowned at the wet patch on the wood and carefully pulled the end of his shirt sleeve over his hand to wipe it. “Don’t worry. I fixed it.” The frown deepened as he thought of a very important point. “Anyways they got multi-vitamins. I read the packet, says so."

“What?” The boots were back again. “Who delivers round here?”

“Mini-wheats?” Raylan was a dumb ass sometimes. Who delivered breakfast cereal?

“No asshole. Pizza, Chinese, Indian? Pizza. You’re too drunk to be trusted with a knife and fork.”

“Whatever man.” Tim decided to lie down. Everything was easier viewed from the bottom up he decided. It gave him a view up Raylan’s long long legs, and his fingers working his phone.

“Anyone ever tell you that you have real nice fingers Givens?”

“Hmm.” Raylan squinted down at him. “Gutterson, do us both a favor, go to sleep until the food gets here.”

Tha’ was mighty considerate of Raylan. Might consider adding him to the potential acquaintances list after all. He curled up on his side and then decided to shut his eyes. He bounced slightly with the weight of Raylan sitting down on the other end of the couch. _Not sleepin' just restin', for jus’ a littl’ bit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is taken from the track that Tim is playing over ... and over. I think Tim Gutterson has pretty shitty taste in music.


	2. I will untangle myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It could have been his dream date - laying on his own couch, soft lamplight, kick back music on the stereo, Raylan Givens ordering in pizza and salad -if it wasn't for the soaring hangover, and the load voice in his head telling him just how much of an almighty ass he had made of himself.

Tim blinked his eyes open. He felt like shit, fuzzy mouth, dry eyes and confused as to why he hadn’t cleaned his teeth before he had fallen asleep, then realized he wasn’t even in bed. He reached out and drank down the full glass of water in front of him on the coffee table. Someone had found a coaster for the glass. 

The second confusing thing was that it was too dark to be morning but the only light that was on was the corner lamp which Tim never used. The TV screen was usually enough light for him.

He stretched out his legs and froze as his foot prodded some part of another human being. Or a very large dog which although inexplicable, would be less frightening. 

Slowly Tim raised his head from the arm of his couch, squinted along the length of his own body and found himself looking at Raylan’s profile. He quickly pulled his foot back from Raylan’s thigh. Closed his eyes again as he put together what had happened before he had passed out on the sofa. Jesus. Way to fuck up. 

“Glad you could join us Gutterson.” He got why the lamp was on now, Raylan was reading a book. The asshole didn’t even turn his head to speak to him, just turned a page over. “Took a while to find something that didn’t come from the comic book section of the store but this ain’t bad. It’s got someone called Bowman in it who ain’t a dick.” He turned the book round to show Tim the cover. It was one of his favorites. Judging by the amount Raylan had read Tim must have been out for some time.

“You should've said it was book club night. I'd 'er bought a Hemmingway, or some other shit.” As smart ass retorts went it wasn’t his finest.

“Well your pizza’s cold now.”

Tim got himself slowly upright, scraped his hair back and ran his hands over his face before he headed off to the bathroom. Even that short walk proved to be hard work so he leant against the wall as he took a piss. 

The mirror showed him as bleary eyed and rumpled, a stupid dimpling in the skin of his cheek where it had been pressed against the fabric on the couch. Fuck. He hated friends seeing him like this let alone co-workers. Even Rachel would be better than Raylan, he knew where he was with her icy sarcasm. His brain was still too sluggish to remember if he had said anything particular dumb.

“You OK in there Gutterson?”

Tim flushed the pan and then pulled out the shower hose, leaning over the bath to douse his head in cold water, hoping Raylan would take the sounds of activity in the bathroom as an answer. Winced as the cold helped with his memory. He couldn’t be in any more shit if he’d purposefully tried.

He came out the bathroom having pulled out dry clothes from the laundry basket reasoning they wouldn’t smell any worse than the ones he had just slept in. If he thought Raylan would be done with the baby sitting now that he was on his feet and not likely to drown in his own vomit anytime soon then Raylan clearly had other ideas. He had kicked his feet onto the coffee table and was engrossed in the book again. Tim prayed that Raylan wasn’t planning to stay until he finished it.

“Uh .. I’m OK. You know, if you want to head.”

“I’ve put your pizza in the oven. There’s a salad in the fridge.” OK so Raylan was going for the full service. Perhaps Rachel had texted _Make sure he eats something_. He could imagine that strict Rachel made Raylan as nervous as she made him. That got him thinking, was it Rachel who had snitched on him? He actually stumbled at the thought that maybe Art had had a hand in this.

“So, unh, you just in the neighborhood earlier?” 

“Yeah ‘cause I have nothing better to do on a Friday night then make milk and cookie calls on anti-social co-workers.”

“So Rachel …?” He had to know the worse.

Finally Raylan put the book down. “Well I was going to be kind and let you carry on in prickly ignorance but seeing as here you are, dog with a bone, then you should know the Lexington PD called Art.”

Shit. Tim stood there swaying. Not one smart ass comment rising to his lips.

“Your lovely girlfriend up there- Raylan stuck one longer finger up towards Tim’s ceiling –“felt she had enough of the play repeat play music night you had planned for her and called the cops. The address pinged. Art got a courtesy call. Seems the last time you were co-opted into a tactical team you built up quite a fan club.”

The oven timer going off saved Tim. Grateful he turned into the kitchen and busied himself with putting slices on a plate. He looked at the salad and then decided it could keep till tomorrow. He needed carbohydrate. The salad looked way too fussy. It had baby leaf spinach in it for fuck’s sake. 

“You want a beer?” he called out, they had caught his eye in the fridge.

There was the tiniest of pauses before Raylan answered, “No man, got to drive myself home.” Tim huffed to himself. They hadn’t gone out much after work as a team but it took considerably more than a bottle of beer for Raylan to even think about leaving his keys behind the bar. He opened a bottle, took his plate and wandered back into his own living room, not feeling as safe in it as he was accustomed, and sat down heavily on the sofa.

“Here.” He handed the beer to Raylan. “I know when to stop. I don’t need you to keep me away from it” He looked away from Raylan’s raised eyebrows. “Whatever.”

Raylan took the beer from him but carried on with his appraisal of Tim before he took a good mouthful. “Now Tim you didn’t get me one of those fine coasters. My favourite was Moses and the burning bush. I was pleased to see you keeping up with your religious education.” The coasters had come with the apartment, six bible scenes each one with the logo of The Kentucky Creation Museum. He couldn’t summon the energy to explain the chain of ownership, let Raylan think what he wanted.

They sat there in silence while Tim forced the pizza slices into his mouth in too big chunks, desperate to get Raylan out of his apartment and figuring he would leave once he was satisfied Tim had eaten something. If it wasn’t for the pounding headache, the missing six hours and Raylan Givens sitting in his living room Tim reckoned this had the perfect makings of a peaceful night in. Raylan had even provided a sound track because the music coming out of the speakers sure as shit hadn’t come from his CD collection. Tim couldn’t abide easy listening country music. In contrast to Tim’s jumpy irritability Raylan was seemingly content to work his way through the _Wind Singer_ , taking occasional pulls on the beer. He hoped Raylan hadn’t read Beth’s scrawl inside the front cover. 

Finally Tim blurted out, “Why you? I mean I get Art wouldn’t want to get involved. But seriously, he chose you?”

“Yeah well, he didn’t know what I was gonna find.” And then perhaps because Raylan realized that sounded too sinister, “Rachel had a movie night planned for Nick. I have no family to think of. Apparently”

Tim managed to push away enough of his fug of despair to feel a little bit sorry for Raylan. Not much though.

“You go out with Rachel a lot?” Raylan had put the book down again.

Tim stilled. “As friends. Movies and stuff. You know we don’t date, right?”

“Might have thought so, at first, but then I realized you two ganging up on me, that was more of a brother sister kind’er thing.”

Yeah, well that was about it, thought Tim. He trudged around his tired brain some more. Trying to find something that would piss Raylan off enough to leave, short of Tim telling him to piss off.

“We had a head start, knew stuff about you ‘fore you started.”

“From Art?”

“Little bit. Mainly Winona though.”

That got Raylan’s attention. 

“Your ex-wife can be really forthcoming on the subject of Raylan Givens if she is bored and pissed with her current husband.”

Raylan ignored the dig. “I’m having a hard time imagining you, Rachel and Winona together in a tete a tete.”

Tim carried on round his final mouthful of pizza, “Rachel made me go as her plus one to a wedding dance, the evening. You know the bit were the bride invites a ton of people she works with because she hasn’t got a whole load of other friends. I wasn’t gonna go but Rachel can be ‘persuasive’.”

“You could take out a workplace harassment suit for that kind’er persuasive. Can’t see you as the ideal wedding guest.”

“I decided to go in the spirit of a social experiment. To see what civilians get up to in awkward social circumstances.”

“And Winona was there?”

“As Hawkins’ plus one. Turns out he was friends with the groom, spent all his time in a group of jocks. So Winona was as bored, as she put it, a cat with no mice to play with, and lit on Rachel and me like we were best buddies. Recognized us from court duties. She soon realized her mistake thinking I was gonna be Mr Chitty Chat-“ 

Raylan tipped his beer bottle in acknowledgement of his own mistakes on that front.

“-but she and Rachel hit it off and I stayed around to listen. After several whiskey sours that Gary kept bringing over, checking up on me I guess, Christ but he’s a dick, she got on to how she knew all about Marshal business, her ex being one an’ all. Asked us if we had heard of you. You hadn’t made the headlines with Bucks then so we had to regretfully decline. She sure talked enough about you though. Made me curious enough to look you up.” 

“Yeah?” Tim could see Raylan was curious too, wanting to know what Tim had found out. But Tim thought he has said enough in his little monologue, “Yep.” He wasn’t going admit to anyone the internet searches he had gone on to find more pictures once he had hit on the first one, Raylan’s staff photo from Glynco.

They sat in silence a bit longer but Tim could tell Raylan had lost interest in the book now, something else bothering him. Finally Raylan broke the silence. “You thought about alcoholics anonymous? You been?”

“Have you?”

Raylan snorted in response.

“Yes, and yes, and no.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Yes I thought they could help me, yes I have been to a group and no, I ain’t an alcoholic Raylan. I lived with one for 16 years. I know what that looks like.”

“OK then.” Raylan clearly didn’t believe him, and Tim didn’t much care. He knew what the drinking was about and he wasn’t going to elaborate with Raylan.

“So the Timmon’s shooting?”

“Was nothing to do with it, this, today.” Was surprised that Raylan would think it would. “Any spectacular binges you indulge in, they ever about putting someone down?”

Raylan shook his head, looked at him through narrowed eyes as though sorting through what would make him drink so much as to pass out and wondering what dark terrors Tim was attempting to exorcise, or surpress.

He guessed he owed Raylan something, something to make him leave feeling less of a responsibility. “I have a shrink. I talk to someone.” It was a small lie, using the present tense.

“Does it help?” Raylan looked sceptical.

“Man you should have seen me last year.” That earned him a wry grin.

Raylan’s cell rang. He ducked his chin as he looked at the display, clearly wary, but answered it. 

“Hey.”

….”No, I’ve been called in …...” Looking over to Tim with a small lie of his own.

….“Oh I thought you had plans tonight? That’s why I didn’t ……“

And then he turned his head to look at Tim, eyebrows raised. “I guess I’m all finished here.” Tim nodded. Hell he was fine and dandy now. Raylan finished his call, “See you soon sweetheart.”

“That working out alright for you? Going back for a second bite?” He didn’t mean it to sound as bitchy as it did. He was genuinely curious, never having been humiliated by someone he had allowed himself to fall for.

Raylan ignored the comment, which Tim was beginning to learn was Raylan for ‘you’ve pissed me off now but I ain’t wasting energy on this shit.’

“You need to take your neighbor a bunch of flowers. She came down when you were passed out. Wanted to know if you were OK. Said she wouldn’t have called 911 if you had been playing different tracks. It was one over and over made her worry. We agreed you have poor taste in popular music. I reckon she’d like ZZ Top.”

Tim smiled despite himself.

“Well can I report back to Rachel that our colleague who isn’t an alcoholic seems to have made some sort of recovery?” 

“What about Art?” Tim hated having to ask.

Raylan shrugged. “I texted him. Said I was here. It was all a misunderstanding with a neighbor.”

Fuck it. Tim hated this feeling of being looked out for. He got himself of the couch then, grabbed his wallet and pulled out some bills. “Here, for the pizza.”

“Nah, we’re good.”

But Tim didn’t drop his hand. “I don’t like owing.”

“Buy me lunch then. Or next time I’m passed out you can fetch the chinese.” Raylan unfolded himself of the couch, settled his hat on his head, and moseyed – there really was no other word for it Tim realized – to Tim’s front door. “Well it’s been interesting and educational as always Gutterson.” And then he was gone.

Tim waited until he was sure Raylan would be back in his car and then stuck the heels of his hands into his eyes and let out the sob that he had been holding in ever since he had woken up an hour ago. Fuck. Fuck. Then he started laughing, hiccupping through his tears, standing there staring at his front door with the thought that he had had Raylan here, in his apartment, the man who had been twisting him up since his arrival in Lexington six months ago, and this was the shitty show he put on for him. If he was still seeing a shrink they would have laughed along with him. All those tax payer dollars talking him through his demons and all it took was a mighty dose of embarrassment to have Tim knowing – not just thinking it – knowing that would be the last time he was getting fall-down-drunk on his own. 

Tim cleared away the dishes, flattened and folded the pizza boxes, wrote himself a note - _Flowers_ \- and stuck it on the fridge with a Colonel Saunders fridge magnet. Perhaps it was time he got his own souvenir knick knacks to decorate the apartment. Back in the living room he picked up the book where Raylan had left it on the coffee table and flicked it open to the front cover.

_I hope you like this Baby bro. It’s get a heroine who’s as stubborn as shit._

It was one of many she used to send him once she had left home and discovered a world of books neither of them had imagined from the meagre pickings at the public library. He had found this one in a package waiting for him on his fourteenth birthday. Her spelling wasn’t great so she had left the final ‘e’ off heroine. He hadn’t wanted Raylan to see that.

Later when he was lying in bed not sleeping he would belatedly remember to thank Raylan with a text message. He didn’t get a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next chapters will definitely not a. be set on a Friday night b. feature a pizza. It will feature Tim, man of action, doing something, in Oklahoma no less. Sadly still no cosy time (yet) on the couch.


	3. What would you do for me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he looked back there was before, and after. And this moment.  
> With bounding leaps of gratitude to leslielol for this and the next two chapters. Read them please I said. And lo she did, and they are the better for that.

Rarely some idiot, some civilian, will ask Tim “How do you know?” Like he wasn’t part of some long chain of command, just some backwoods hick randomly selected and given high grade weaponry like it was a pop gun? “Here son, point that and shoot.” What they really mean is “What if you’ve got it wrong?”

If he’s been minded to bother a civil answer he could say well, sometimes it’s the tensing of the gun arm, other times the set of the head. Close up you can see it in the eyes maybe, a moment of decision, but that’s only if they know you have eyes on them. Doyle Bennett has none of those tells. But there is only one man you want to come out of there alive, so you take the shot. 

Afterwards, when they are preparing a gurney for Mags Bennett’s last journey he watches as the EMT’s help Raylan into the back of the bus. He looks tired and sad and Tim doesn’t think it’s from the pain in his gut. Perhaps he feels Tim looking because suddenly he shifts focus, stares right back, and then tips his hat. It’s as corny as all hell, but Tim knows it’s all the thanks he’s likely to get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been sitting on the next chapters of this story for so long. Written, re-written, re-written rewrites. This tiny little chapter was going to be a prologue, the first half of an epilogue and like an over worked clay pot it folded in on itself and I said to myself just f*&^ing post something. So here it is. Is there some sort of award for chapter notes which are longer than the chapter? Chapters 4 and 5 are way longer, not just a figment of my imagination and will be posted very soon. Now what to do with the rest of that epilogue ...


	4. Bound I am bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Driving a 24 round trip to gather proof that your co-worker has not dropped a body in a mine shaft; that’s a completely reasonable response, isn’t it? It’s the only way Tim can think to calm the increasing jitters he’s getting that Gary Hawkins might not still be a living breathing sad sack of shit walking the streets of this planet. Catastrophizing is what his shrink, ex-shrink, would call it. Whatever. Tim needs to settle the demons and since he himself had removed the drown all your cares in bourbon option then that leaves him with no other choice than to go do something about it. He hasn’t bargained on what else he will find out in Tulsa. 
> 
> Set after the end of season 2.
> 
> You should know that is was thornfield_girl who gave us Sean in the story Stakeout  
> I have borrowed Guts as a nickname from gutterson.

Kirk was in the middle of his shift, porn mag on the desk, can of beer in one hand, joint in the other, some good shit he’d lifted from Cherry, a bottle of liquor too but hidden under the desk, case a federal rolled through. With half an eye on the monitors he watched the SUV, KY plates, pull up in the auto toll lane, feed the coins into the basket and wait for the green light. Kirk grinned. _Yeah like that machine works sucker_. Kirk counted to ten, it was fun watching drivers get pissy before he overrode the machine to raise the barrier. The SUV didn’t budge. What was the dipshit waiting for? Kirk’s grin got wider, until the vehicle reversed at speed out of its lane and drove towards his booth.

 _Sheeit_. Kirk grabbed the magazine to flap frantically, trying to get rid of the fug of weed smoke.

The driver rolled down his window, clean shaven, smart shirt, expensive looking wristwatch, watch face pointing inwards. ‘You know, like one of those sales rep jerks’ he would tell Cherry later.

“The machine in that lane isn’t working. “

“I raised the barrier for you.”

“Didn’t give me change. How about that?”

“Yeah, well it does that.”

“You report it?”

“Un-uh.” Kirk tried hard to look front. He had read somewhere the trick to lying well was not to flick your eyes to left or right.

“It says on the notice to see the attendant. That you?”

“I can’t give change for the machine. If you’da pulled into this lane first off, I could give you change.”

“I want my change.”

“It’s just fifty cents man.”

“It’s my fifty cents. You are the attendant, that’s you right? I can’t see anyone else.” Not that guy was looking anywhere but straight at Kirk. ‘He had real blue eyes Cherry, sort of drilled right into me.’

“So you, are in fact, in charge here?”

“Yeah that’s me”.

“So here I am, seeing you”.

Kirk squinted east out into the darkness, willing another car to pull into the toll plaza to force this jerk on. The highway was empty of any headlights.

“So?”

“What do you want me to do man?”

“Give me my fifty cents.”

“I don’t have any change, they don’t leave me enough, that ain’t my fault.”

“Not your fault huh?”

The jerk – he was firmly a jerk in Kirk’s mind now - shifted into drive and put his foot down, slowly pulling away. Kirk grinned, waited until the SUV was 50 yards away and flipped him the big ol’ bird.

_Sheeit._

The brake lights came on as the tires squealed and then the SUV reversed at speed

‘I never seen no one drive that straight goin’ backwards that fast Cherry.’ Kirk frantically tried to pull down the metal shutter on the window of the booth, doobie gripped between his teeth. 

A palm smacked hard against window. ‘See then Cherry, I thought maybe that ain’t what a sales rep has, a wrist tat.’ 

“OK, OK. I got it. Wild eyed Kirk scrabbled about on the desk and pushed a coin over.

“There, that weren’t so hard. You’re getting to keep the eleven dollars and fifty cents you owe me for all the other trips I’ve made when there, air quotes 'weren’t no change’. Be careful now, you never know who might be driving through here mean minded enough to use their gun.”

Kirk watched him walk away. "Prick," he said. Very very quietly. He’d seen the gun tucked in the waistband.

Another car rolled up to his window shoved a twenty through and Kirk slapped the change down so quick he nearly caught the driver’s fingers. 

‘You know what the crazy fucker called out? ‘Fore he got in his car Cherry? “The US Marshals service thanks you for your assistance.”’

+++++++++++++++++

When he first started in the Lexington office Tim drove this route once a month or so, still finding his feet as the rookie, unsure even if he’d made the right choice with the Marshals. Lonely too. He’d strike out on the 11 hour drive west sometimes splitting the journey, curled up on the back seat in the lot of a diner, neck sore as the sun would force him awake or stubbornly driving through until six am. Then he would crash out all morning on Taterhead’s couch, waking groggily to the sound of Assassins Creed, Halo, his feet more often than not up in Tater’s lap. He would get handed a beer without asking, some weak piss in a can, then reach for the second controller and another afternoon would drift away. 

Tater was but one of a group of ex-army buddies that had settled around Tulsa, or valued the company on a Friday night so that a two, three hour car journey into the city was worth it for some beers and stupid jokes, name calling, and greasy kebabs. And always, always the toast, a drunken roar, to the only one of their tight group who not made it back. 

_Lucky_ , they had all said this individually at one time or another to Tim, _we were so lucky man_. They meant that it had only been Sean who had died over there. Tim would nod solemnly with them but didn’t trust himself to speak to the matter. 

He was more than the geographical outlier of the group, he couldn’t contribute to the banter about wives and girlfriends, growing families. When talk turned to kindergarten play dates or prowess in Little League he could only hear one voice in his head.

_Yeah but a kid Guts, wouldn’t that be cool?_

What could Tim share? News that he was obsessing about a hot female colleague now, that would be celebrated, greeted with whoops and cat calls and demands for cell phone pictures. Breaking it to his good ol’ buddies that _no this ones got actual balls_ less so. 

Taterhead though, not that they did much talking about stuff, he was a precious friend with a shared secret. Tim found he craved his gentle company every now and then. He’d wait for Tater to text, say his girlfriend Renee was visiting a sister, and then Tim would haul ass down the interstate. Once they tired of killing pixels a conversation might start up, about present concerns, about his past, about the one he had lost. Aside from Beth Tater being the only one who knew the day that changed Tim’s life forever was when Sean stepped right instead of left. _Lucky._

Now though he had given himself a positive reason to be heading to Tulsa, man-of-new-found-resolve now that most of his waking hours were sober. Pushed to action by an unease which had turned into a rat-like gnawing, a concern he definitely was not sharing with Art or Rachel.

_Yeah Boss I thought I’d check out that Raylan hadn’t shot his ex-wife’s ex-husband, you know Raylan! The scamp. Nah its fine I’ll do it off the clock but if you could just cover the gas and sign off on the meal allowance?_

It had begun to keep Tim awake at night, catastrophizing is what the shrink had called it that first year out after his last tour, thinking the worse that could happen and then visualizing it. 

He texted Tater _[Saturday morning buddy?]_ although as he neared Tater’s street he was still not sure if he would stay at Tater’s overnight. The man’s entire home was like a seventeen year old’s bedroom with no mom to chase after moldy plates and rotting take away cartoons, or stale washing under the bed. But this was a trip on his own time and he wasn’t exactly flush with cash.

Five am and he was tapping gently on Tater’s door. It opened a crack

“That you Guts?” Tater had the palest eyes Tim had ever seen, and an unruly cowlick of a fringe. He had to keep his hair short working security in a mall but his bangs always made him look scruffy. In basic the instructor had made him take it up to his hairline so hard that Tater had a bald patch on his left temple. You look peeled dude Mark had called out that first week. He had never been called Connor since, even Renee called him Tater. Tim had a bet on with Mark that Tater wouldn’t make it through the first week in basic, he looked so lost and needy but he was reliable like good shoe leather, rolled with the punches and a born natural at surveillance.

“Hey buddy.”

“Hey. You drive through? I set the alarm for six. Want some breakfast?” Tater was shivering slightly in his shorts and t-shirt, arms wrapped round his chest, skinnier than last Tim had seen him.

“Nah, I’ll just crash on the couch. You get back to bed.” 

“OK. Wanna come in with me?”

+++++++++++++++++

Tim groggily drifted into consciousness, lying on his back, daylight pushing in either side of the window blind. If he shut his eyes tight he could be back in Lexington, nighttime, the muffled sound on Tater’s TV voices drifting up from a bar maybe. The leg his calf was resting against could be long, ending in an elegant collection of bones making a slim, perfect foot. The breathing of his bedfellow, the hand on his cock … He let Tater carry on, making out he wasn’t quite awake yet until he grunted once and his own cum spilt onto his belly. 

He guessed from the movement of the mattress that Tater had sat up. He opened his eyes, prepared at least to say thank you even if he had promised himself that he was not going to let that happen again. 

“S’alright man, you don’t have to get me back,” Tater looked all of seventeen years old in his hopefulness, as well as his shitty housekeeping habits. He picked a towel of the floor, dropping it on Tim’s belly, padding off out the room. “You want some eggs?” 

So when you said you were never gonna do that again? Said the little voice in his head. He looked at the towel Tater had given him and used his own t-shirt to wipe off his belly instead, then swung his legs to the floor, kicking a can as he did so and sat there on the edge of the bed, boxers round his ankles.

_Smooth._

He listened to the sounds of Tater fixing breakfast in his kitchenette, dragged his jeans out of his bag, and wandered through the living room to lean on the door frame, just in time to see Tater triumphantly pull an unwashed pan out of the large pile in his sink.

“We could go out to eat,” he said hopefully, “my treat.” Tater turned round as Tim was pulling his zipper up, naked apart from his jeans. 

“You are such a wuss. I’ll wash it.”

“You know what washing up liquid is?” Tim was only half-joking.

“I’ve got this fancy washing up brush too.” He waved it like a cheerleading baton, then turned to his task. “So, who is he?”

“Who is who?”

“Whatever poor sucker back in Lexington, lets you give it to him in the ass. The reason you ain’t been over in a spell.” 

“There isn’t any one person.”

“Ha. You are so full of it Guts. Or were” Tater laughed at his own piss poor joke because Tim wasn’t obliging him. “So, this guy?”

“What makes you think it’s a guy?”

Tater didn’t even bother answering although Tim worried hoped for Tater’s sake the wind didn’t change direction and leave him with that look on his face. He decided to deflect any more questions in case he cracked and gave in to an audience for whom the name Raylan Givens meant absolutely jack shit so not even that reputation could save him from a fit of eye rolling and worse, sympathy, for his sorry obsession. 

“So, you and Renee?” Tit for tat.

“Yeah. You know. She’s OK. Keeps bringing me over application forms for jobs you know, ones with prospects.”

Tim gave a look which he hoped said ‘girlfriends and their crazy career ambitions’ although he was clueless at what that attention might actually like to be on the receiving end of. 

“You got any plans for this afternoon Tater? “

“Na uh.”

“Well consider yourself deputized.” The grin he got in return made Tater look like he’d been promised candy and a comic for doing his chores right. Although by the state of the kitchenette it was a long time since he had gotten either of those.

+++++++++++++++++

It hadn’t been hard to track Hawkins down. The jerk had kept his car and was advertising his services online as a lifestyle coach. Style a life on Gary Hawkins you would have to be starting from a pretty desperate place, thought Tim. Gary’s website carried an advert for Jo-Jo’s men's car waxing service, which Tim thought was a piss poor cover for a sex service. _Make an effort people._ There was another for Mister Paper, Tulsa’s premier office stationery wholesale outlet, a promise of more pens then you would ever need. _Eight_ , thought Tim, _I need eight. One for me, one for every day when Raylan loses his_. Tim could have saved himself a ton of gas money just by keeping a log of his internet searches to convince himself Hawkins was still a living, breathing, sad sap prick but he needed to see for himself. He didn’t think Raylan was tech savvy enough to set up a fake electronic trail for Hawkins but maybe he’d bribed that ginger dick in IT, or more likely just loomed over him and cajoled, that being more Raylan’s style. 

At their first stop on Gary’s street they hadn’t had long to wait parked a few spaces back from Gary’s car. He obligingly came out after about 10 minutes and they both took the piss as he put a fussily tied bag of garbage in a trash can, tie flicked over his shoulder so it didn’t get caught in the lid. If Tater thought it was odd that Tim didn’t have an official paper file on their subject he didn’t say so, happy enough to tag along, tailing Hawkins as he stopped at a dry cleaners, then called in to a mail box service.

But Gary had done precisely nothing in the last sixty minutes other than drink coffee in the Starbucks they were parked over the road from and fiddle with his cell, so Tim found in Tater a willing audience for his midnight encounter.

“Fuck Guts. You goin’ all pyscho on that poor kid’s ass.”

“Poor kid? The little fucker’s running a scam on those toll machines. You should have seen how hard he went cross eyed trying to make like he wasn’t lying. Or maybe it was the jerking off behind the desk. His pants were still undone.“

“What did you say then?” Tater was still grinning.

“Told him smoking was bad for his health. It smelt like some good shit, I’ll give him that.”

“He could report you man.”

“And have me report him for being high on the job?”

“You’re one mean ass motherfucker.” said Tater. “Although you need new shades, those are too geeky.”

Truth was Tim was just enjoying their spit balling and was happy to string it out, a pretence that he still needed to keep eyes on Gary. He had got what he had come for within the first hour of trailing the dick wad. Shots of Hawkins alive and well, date on the digital camera, in one oblivious to Tater standing behind him holding up that day’s copy of Tulsa World. He had let Tater run with that one, proud of the idea from his junior detective reading days. Tim hadn’t even bothered hiding the camera with its long lens, fairly confident that Gary wouldn’t recognize him anyway even if he did turn round. The man only had eyes for Raylan when he and Rachel had babysat.

Just then a car back fired and Gary jumped, caught in a perfect digital freeze frame as he ducked the whole of his upper body down. 

“Wow Guts, look at him shit his shorts. Pussy.” Tim was laughing so much he gave up trying to take any more pictures. It made Tim wish for Raylan sitting next to him, smirking at how pathetic Hawkins was.

“He doesn’t look all that badass. We goin’ be picking him up?”

“Tater have I not told you what most of my job entails? It rarely involves badass.”

“Well sounds more exciting than running down teenage girls for stealin’ panties and sad old folks who’ve stuck a tin of peaches down their pants.”

“At least you get to run after the girls. Court days, I can be in there all day counting ceiling tiles.” 

“Ain’t you supposed to be keeping an eye in case they try to bust out?”

“Now you sound like a taxpayer riding my ass.”

“I pay my taxes.”

“Well get you Tom Hanks.”

Don’t know why I keep turning up to work, what I have left in my pay packet end of the week.”

“You know you’d miss searching the old biddies for those cans of peaches.”

“Man, most of them smell like kitty litter. They still using you as a specialist?”

Tim was glad for the sunglasses. “Nah. I just polish the rifle for my own amusement now.”

Into hour four even Tater’s enthusiasm for this unexpected Saturday in Tim’s company was wearing thin. He was flicking paper pellets at a dead fly on Tim’s console, gradually moving it towards the heating vent. His phone buzzed and his face lit up. “It’s Suds. I told him you were coming in. He’s having a BBQ. We’re invited.”

“He live in Tulsa now?”

“Do you never look at Facebook man? He’s been posting pictures of him doing up the yard, in the new place. Bitchin’ about Cindy at him to plant it nice.”

“He living with someone now?”

“Jesus man, when was the last, they have two more kids ….. How do you not hear this stuff?” 

“I tune out man. Secret sniper skills. How long he been with this Cindy?” _Jesus, when did his buddies start having … how many kids?_

“Since he got out, more less. He kept in touch after-, when the Lieutenant asked him to go visit her, give her the usual about what...” Tater trailed off, squashed the fly with his thumb.

“What man?”

“Well, you know, what a fine soldier Sean was, and shit like that.”

“Sean?”

“You know, Cindy being Sean’s next of kin an’ all.” 

“Like his sister or what?” _What was he missing here?_

Tater chewed his lip, shrugged in a lame attempt to be casual. “I thought you knew man.”

“Knew what? Tates? What would I know?”

“Cindy Sean’s feeancay?” Tater’s Adam’s apple was bobbing uncomfortably in his thin neck. 

Tim knew he had to fight to keep that look from his face, the one that Rachel said was like he was about to punch his fist through a wall.

“S’OK I can tell Suds you’re in Tulsa working, too busy to go over. S’not like we had made a plan.”

“Sean had a fiancé?”

“Yeah,” Tater swallowed, looked stricken. “Sorry man I thought, you know, he’d have told ya.”

_“What about New York Guts?”_

_“Jesus, no, all day with listening to that accent?”_

_“Miami then.“_

_“Sure, let’s live there, I already speak Spanish.”_

_“You do?”_

_“Hasta La Vista Baby.”_

_“Fucker.”_

Guts?

__

Hmm?

__

“The guy. He’s driven off. Shouldn’t we be going after him?”

__

“Nah, we’re good. You see a lot of Suds and his family now?”

__

“Yeah. Cindy, she’s real nice to me man.”

__

“You want to go over?” Tim couldn’t mistake the disappointment on Tater’s face at the thought of missing out on a family occasion.

__

Tater grinned hesitantly. “You wanna go? You sure?”

__

“You got a cigarette for me man?”

__

“You’ve given up.”

__

“What are we married now?” He’d work out how to get the reek of smoke out of the SUV later. Stop Raylan bitchin’ on about it on their next stakeout.

__

+++++++++++++++++

__

Suds and Cindy lived on a quiet street, neat lawns, planters leading up to the front porch. Homes for families. It made Tim’s palms sweat just looking. Still time to drive away he thought, he could drop Tater and make up some shit about having to get back on Gary’s tail after all.

__

Tim had blasted Green Day on max volume on the ride over. They both roared along with the choruses. It was the kindest way he could think of to stop Tater asking if Tim was sure, really sure man about going or worse, trying to say something small and pathetic about why Sean would fail to mention a fucking fiancé. 

__

A spilled trike on the front lawn spoke of at least one kid. Tim could hear wailing from out the back as he killed the engine. 

__

Tater was talking now. “Kid crying, that’ll be Angie, the middle one, short for Angel, ‘cause that’s what Suds said she looked like when she popped out. The baby, called him Jake, for Jake Gyllenhaal, Cindy’s got the hots for him.” 

__

“You said three kids?”

__

Tater took his time to answer. “Yeah, well, the oldest. They call him Junior.”

__

Suds, a fatter older Mike Sudowitz, came round the corner of the house, a smudged faced little girl on his arm.

__

“Guts! Jesus man.” He bellowed, “Hey honey, honey its Guts and Tater. Jesus man, look at you Guts, how long’s it been? Angie this is daddy’s friend Tim, Guts get out here.” All of this while he strode up to the car, yanked the door open, pulled Tim into a headlock. Angel wasn’t fazed, clearly used this bear of a daddy in full flow. 

__

“Mike, the kids, mind your tongue.” A blond woman stood on the lawn, hanging back a little, long hair in a ponytail, freckles, the baby gripping onto her pink t-shirt, pulling it down at the front. 

__

“Cindy, honey, this is Tim. Guts get out the car man let’s look at you. How do you never get any fatter? So not fair. Guts this is Cindy.”

__

And there she was, in the flesh, the fiancé. She broke into a smile for Tater, scolding Suds, jigging the baby on her hip, wiping Angie’s nose. 

__

Not once did she look him in the eye. 

__

She knows, thought Tim. _She knows._

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is Tim's adventures in Tulsa part 1. Part 2 is in Chapter 5. I am so bad at getting my head round the technology of posting stuff. Gah.


	5. We're not the ones who are meant to follow

“So the way Tater tells it you have the most boring job in the world.”

“That’s the Marshals service.”

Suds looked at him over the top of his beer, checked Angel was too busy in her sandpit to hear them. “They took you on as sharp shooter though? You get to do that a lot?”

Tim shrugged. “Most of the job is court security. Prisoner transport. But man, when they let me out on asset seizure, I can tell you -

-you’re creaming your pants.” Suds crowed.

Cindy smacked her husband on the back of the head with an inflatable baseball bat as she went past. Suds pulled a goofy face at Tim, “Sorry Honey.” He turned back to Tim, his pointed inquiry forgotten. ” She’s right, we want these kids to grow up nice.”

“This gonna be my one and only invite given my bad influence on you?” Tim decided to make light of Cindy’s coolness towards him.

“She’s just shy man. You know what it’s like when we all get together. It can be intimidating.”

Whatever Cindy was harboring a dislike of him for she hadn’t shared with her husband.

Tim felt shitty about not enjoying the evening. He had tried. He filled three billion buckets of sand for Angie, and held Jake carefully when Suds thrust the baby at him so he could get on with grilling. Moments captured for Facebook – _the guys will never believe this, kids actually like Guts_ – by Suds. When he checked Cindy wasn’t looking he gently pushed Angie’s damp bangs off her forehead, where they were plastered down from the effort of building her sand castle. 

After the one beer he had stuck to soda, wanting to be sober so he could manage this, this normality, and to mop up Tater who was getting quietly and steadily very drunk, pretty much cracking the next can has he drained the last until Cindy gave Suds that look and suddenly Suds was _all out of beer man_. Cindy went into the house to fetch desert and make Tater a coffee he would never drink.

“Guts will help you honey, “said Suds and nearly gave himself a crick in his neck flicking his head at Tim with a go on, go talk to her look. Tim gathered the plates up and took them inside, searching for something polite to say to Cindy before he made their excuses and took Tater home. She was at the fridge. Tim coughed.

“Great, the kids, you know” He waved aimlessly in the direction he had come from “They’re great.” Way to use your words Gutterson, real descriptive.

“Un-uh.” She carried on getting the cake out of the box, folded the carton over, making a precise crease with both hands. 

He had volunteered to help with dessert. He could hardly leave the kitchen without carrying something in his hands so he was stuck here until Cindy had stopped fussing. He searched for another line of conversation, “Suds said Junior’s at a sleepover?” 

“He’s at his Grandma’s, she has him every other weekend.”

“Well that’s Grandma’s for you.” Although here Tim was drifting into the realms of fantasy, never having had extensive experience of his own.

“Lucille. That’s Sean’s mom”

“Oh.” He nodded again, air in his chest a little hard to come by.

She stopped fussing with the packaging and looked at him, really looked at him, like she was sizing him up. “You really didn’t know anything about his folks, his life at home did you?”

Tim shook his head. So they weren’t doing small talk then. 

“You know my girlfriends used to bitch about how their boyfriends were always after them, pesterin’ to get laid and I thought I was special ‘cause Sean was always so respectful. I felt so dumb when I found out about you.”

Tim swallowed. Well if she wanted a dumb and dumber competition. He was confident of winning first place.

“When Sean came home, that first time after basic, it was all Guts did this, and Guts that. He told us all about y’all, Mike, and Mark, Tater, but it was you he talked about. I was happy for him, that he had such a good buddy ‘cause he was shy, you know, awkward. His mom she worried that he would fit in, maybe get picked on but we got that you were there for him. We thought he would bring you home to meet us after that first tour. His mom you know was real keen to meet you, me too. ‘When are you gonna bring Guts over Seaney?’ And he would always find an excuse, you know, why he would visit you and you wouldn’t come over to us, there was always some reason, like your Daddy dying, or you having to visit your sister Beth-“

“He did die, really- “

“-Uh-nh, but all the other times?”

“It’s just uh-“ Jesus what should he say here – “I had no folks, a house to myself.” He stopped. She didn’t need him painting a picture of what he and Sean would do to each other, could do for each other, their seemingly endless capacity for noisy fucking with no parents or siblings or fellow recruits to keep quiet for. He couldn’t put a finger on them doing much, besides each other.

He looked at the large display of photos on the wall. Cindy had put a lot of effort into matching frames, lining them up like she wanted to shout out one big message; we ARE a happy family.

“This him?” Tim tapped a photo “This Junior?” Of course it was him. Afterwards he would swear he could physically feel Cindy’s eyes on him as she watched him put it together. The final smash of the hammer on his carefully boxed and tissued memories. The kid had Sean’s eyes, his bleached out blonde hair, even the same dimple on this chin, the up and under look through long lashes. 

_You ever wanted a kid Guts?_

_Take it from me man, they puke and cry, a lot. And when they are not doing that they shit, like, literally all the time._

_Yeah but a kid Guts, wouldn’t that be cool?_

““I lied, told him I was on birth control. I just wanted to fit in. We lived in western Oklahoma. It was a small town. He asked me to marry him ‘cause that’s what everyone did and he didn’t want to stick out, be different.”

Tim knew that town. Had grown up in one just like it. 

“Junior’s never known any other Daddy than Mike, he’s like his little shadow. Sean’s just a name and a picture in an album now.” 

Tim nodded, like he was in a position to agree that that was A Good Thing. There was another one of Junior, shot from behind so that Tim could see the backs of his ears, his head turned just so you would just see the soft curve of his cheek. Tim had his fingers out touching it before he could think about the action.

_Yeah, but a kid Guts?_

“Do you think I would have had any of this,” she stretched out her hand “if Sean had made it home?” 

It wasn’t the sort of question that was wanting an answer. She wasn’t finished though. “You know how I found out, ‘bout the two of you?” Tim wasn’t sure why he was still letting her have the floor considering he was very much the aggrieved party here, but he it was like he was wearing boots filled with concrete. He didn’t think he could walk out that kitchen if it was on fire around him.

“When Mike came, his first visit, he bought back my letters to Sean and one he had written to me and hadn’t put in an envelope, and at the back of that, was another page, to you. I guess nobody had spotted it, just assumed it was for me. “ 

“You keep the letter he was writing to me?”

She shook her head.” I tore it up.”

Tim admired her restraint. He’d have made a fuse for a petrol bomb.

“He wrote that you couldn’t be together now he was married.”

Tim nodded again. Felt like one of those fucking plastic dogs on the parcel shelf of a car. 

“Baby, you and Guts getting it on in here? Thought you were fetching the cheesecake.”

Suds made a noisy entrance, threw his big bear limbs round Tim. “Hands off, Guts. I know you’re such a sad suck loser, all the ladies in Kentucky put the word round to steer clear but you can’t have mine.” And he rubbed his stubbly chin into Tim’s cheeks.

“Fu-, get off you slime ball.” Tim more than ever mindful of Cindy’s no swearing rule.

Suds spun Cindy round, planted a smacking kiss on her lips and careered back out into the garden. She looked after him but carried on talking to Tim.

“When Tater said you were coming in Mike was real made up. I didn’t want to have you over but I couldn’t say that could I?”

“You gonna tell him?” He hated himself for asking.

After a pause she shook her head. “You ain’t nothing like I thought you were going to be. You’re real good with the kids.”

He carried the plates and forks out for her.

++++++++++++++

The second hand ticked over so his wristwatch said eight and he pushed the door of the bedroom open and walked over quietly to the bed. He’d been going to shake Tater awake but he stood and watched him instead, curled up on his side, thumb of one hand touching his lips, bangs stuck down with sweat on his forehead. 

When they had finally got back to Tater’s the night before he had loaded Tater onto the couch then lain propped up against him channel surfing. He chugged one can after another. _See ‘M not drinking alone_ was his sorry excuse given that Tater could not in any way be considered present, his snorting and snuffling a strange accompaniment to Tim’s sadness _for_ Sean and what he had lost. _If it had been me_ , a fervent litany of his for _years_ after Sean’s death Tim knew the one thought to occupy every pulsing corner of his mind from when he heard the tell-tale click to blessed oblivion would be grief for the loss to him of his unborn child. 

Now this morning Tim had sat nursing a coffee waiting for it to be eight o’clock when he wouldn’t feel so bad about waking Tater up. Time was he would have snuck off, left him to his hangover, a scrawled note with a see you next time man. He reckoned he owed Tater a good bye. He wasn’t planning on coming back anytime soon.

Tim sat on the edge of the bed. Tater turned on to this back, still not fully awake and Tim could see his hard on under the thin covers. He placed his hand gently on it and started rubbing his thumb up and down. Tater opened his eyes, blinking out the sleep and looked at Tim with his milky grey stare. He let Tim carry on for a few seconds and then put his hand over his, pressing down, and stopping the movement.

“Who is it?”

“Hmm?”

“Back in Lexington. Reason why you ain’t visited in a while.”

“I’m not with someone.”

“Someone you’d like to be with?”

“No.”

“He got a name?”

“Again, you assume it’s a guy? Don’t think I’ve got myself all straightened out by now?”

Tater snorted with laughter “You? Guts? You wouldn’t dick about with some woman pretending to be something you’re not. You got integrity man.”

“Was that word for the day in Security Mall weekly?”

“Fuck you Guts. I know lots of big words, can spell some of ‘em.” Tater punched him on the arm. Tim punched him back.

“You gotta photo?”

“No. No way man. Fuck you.”

Tater crowed with laughter then, at Tim’s embarrassment. So much so that Tim felt his resolve slacken “It’s someone at work, which you know, is why it ain’t gonna happen. You don’t get a dog so-“

“-it can crap on your front porch. “

“Yeah.”

“So this someone at work, good lookin’?” Tater wasn’t giving up.

“Jesus. OK. So, yeah good looking, older, good at the job, I mean really good, but thinks he’s the shit, so-” Tim decided to stop with is list before he got onto screwed up family, twelve years older, really into women, kid on the way and all his self-respect melted away before Tater’s disbelieving gaze. Fuck him with his integrity.

“Come on tell me his name. What am I gonna call him when we talk? How’s Mister hot stuff Timmy-“Whatever else Tater was going to come out with was swallowed by the pillow Tim thumped into his face before smacking him hard on the chest. Tater retaliated with punches of his own. They both ended up on the floor tangled in the covers. Tim with his arm pulled around Tater’s neck trying hard not to touch any of the carpet with bare flesh.

“Do you never clean up man?”

Tater snorted. “Your great BJs don’t get you nagging privileges. You want summat to eat ‘fore you go?”

“Nah, I’ll pick up something on the way out.” Last night’s cheesecake still tasted like window putty in his mouth. “Come on man, run me off the premises.”

At the front door he pulled Tater in for a hug, trying to mimic Suds from the night before, a this is how ex-army buddies say goodbye slap on the back but Tater sabotaged it, slipping one arm round Tim’s waist and pushing his forehead into Tim’s shoulder. 

“He loved you man. He just wasn’t good with words and shit.”

He had so nearly made it out the door without talking about Sean.

“Before we all went home on leave that last time, see the way he used to look at you when he forgot someone else might be lookin’.”

“Fuck Tates. Tryin’ to get me to talk about feelings and shit?” 

“That’s me Guts, I live and breathe Oprah.” He stood still for a minute. “Sorry you found out like that. I thought he would’ve told yer.” 

He pushed a kiss into Tater’s temple and stepped back, pulling his shades into place.

He turned out of Tater’s street, not looking in the rear view mirror. He should be back in Lexington by nightfall, upload the images from the camera for safe keeping on his hard drive before he crashed in his own bed. And draw a line. Make Monday Day 1 of deputy US Marshal Tim Guttterson, focused on the job one hundred and ten percent. It would free up a ton of memory on his phone, deleting all the pictures he had of Raylan.

About three that morning he had finally stepped off the treadmill he was wearing out in his head and with that accepted his own defeat. Even if Raylan by some miracle had a shred of interest in Tim, and Tim had more than enough evidence to the contrary, no way was he going to get involved with anyone so patently invested in their ex and future child.

Maybe he’d take the sixty back. No turnpikes. Though it was not like he was going to claim the tolls on expenses. 

**Epilogue**  
Months later, when they are lying side by side, Tim forgets which bed now, Raylan surprises him by asking.

“How did you know you had to take that shot?” His voice is a little hoarse.

Raylan’s hand is resting on his belly, his hand rising and falling as Tim is getting his breathing to steady. 

“Jesus. Where did that come from?” Tim knows which shot he’s talking about but makes like he doesn’t, then shrugs, looks like he had to think about it and gives him an answer, one of them anyway, picks the one that he thinks will make the most sense to Raylan.

“It’s my job Raylan. “The answer that will freak him out the least.

_When I knew how much it would hurt to see you dead._ Is what he would have said if he wasn’t scared, then, of pushing him away.

_‘Cause I know how much that hurts_ Tim could have said, if they talked about shit that mattered.

He turns, exploring Tim’s face, looks at him a good long time. “Did I ever say thank you?” 

“Do you ever? “ Says Tim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it for Part 1. There is a Part 2 and 3 (what is currently listed as part 2 is really part 4). Part 3 is written, Part 2 a little less so.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok. I posted quite a late part of the series first, and have just had to make that part 2 when it will get shoved along in story order when I post again. Don't read Part 2 if you are new to this series just yet. That will just be frustrating. Or read this as the first part of a very extended flashback. Hmmm. This is definitely Part 1 though. Note to self. Don't do panic postings before fully working out the plot.  
> I don't own these characters, this is just a bit of fun.


End file.
